


Der frühe Vogel kann mich mal.... (Screw the early bird...)

by StormblazeP51



Category: Planes (Movies)
Genre: Characters might be a bit ooc, Fluff, Lazy Racers, Other, Planes goofing around, Tired Planes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-03 08:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormblazeP51/pseuds/StormblazeP51
Summary: What happens when everybodies favourite ex-Cropduster, a certain P-51d racing Mustang, and the two most adorable villains in Disney and Pixar history, Ned and Zed, refuse to go to their daily morning exercise?Read and find out..........





	1. Dusty and Skipper

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on both, a sportslesson that ended with everybody talking and goofing and a conversation I had with a dear friend of mine about what would happen if the Racers would just decide to sit out on training for a day.  
This is the result.  
I apologize in advance should the Characters get too OOC..........................I suck at interpreting what other people erm planes are like....
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This one also goes out to my other works! I don't own neither Cars nor Planes! I make no profit with this! it's all just for fun!

The first light of the day was just appearing above the golden Corn fields, bathing them in it's soft, gentle light. Starting a bit behind said cornfields was a tiny town somewhere in Minnesota. And sitting on the town's only run and taxi way was an old F4U-Corsair. The navy blue plane seemed tranquill, as he sat in the dusk's slowly brightening light, surrounded by soft hills and colourful fields. His breath rose up in puffy, steamy clouds and the mornings frost glinted on his plating. But the old Warplane was anything but tranquill. 

Skipper huffed in irritation. Dusty was already half an hour late for training, and that when he had his next race in only a couple of weeks. He might have shown the world what he'd got but that didn't mean that Skipper would allow him to rest on his laurels. The Corsair hummed softly and tapped his tire against the tarmac. One should think that after years of dusting crops with Leadbottom the young Cropduster-turned-racer-turned-Firefighter should be an early bird. Speaking of the devil the old Cropduster flew by overhead, leaving an invisible yet quite smelly trail of Vitaminamulch behind.  
It seemed like today, Dusty getting up early would be on the same level as Leadbottom quitting...............although the later was somthing he would not pity as much.  
With a deep sigh Skipper turned and rolled to the younger Planes hangar.

„Dusty, wake up already! You're late for training!“ semi-shouted Skipper while he opened Dusty's hangar door. The younger plane never locked it anyway. Propwash junction was such a peaceful little town, Skipper was quite certain, if somebody would ask him, then Dusty would probably even tell them where he bunkered the money he won at each race, without any second thought. Oh to be young and naive again, with a sigh Skipper closed the door behind him and rolled through the foyer. Trophies and medals adorned the walls and shelves, which were filled with small die-casts of the young Plane's favourite racers. „I swear to Chrysler, Dusty if you don't get up now I will-“ Skipper stopped in the middle of his sentence at what he saw.  
Dusty was almost invisible beneath the huge blanket he had draped over himself. The only thing that could be seen of the small plane was the tip of one black and yellow Proppblade. Dusty had also sunken into the sleeping mat and the only thing that told the old Corsair that somebody even was in the Hangar,the proppblade aside, were the soft, steady snoring that drifted up from beneath the blanket, and the small dark patch on the fabric that the Corsair guessed was drool. Skipper sighed again and rolled forward. With a huff he pulled the blanket off of Dusty. The small plane stirred at the sudden loss of comfy-ness and warmth and cracked open an eye. Skipper looked down at him and raised an eyebrow in anticipation, „You're late for training“. He got a halfhearted groan and several slow blinks as response. „Get up, will ya?“ asked Skipper, this time with a certain degree of amusement in his voice. Dusty seemed to work on a broken autopilot when he was tired. With a certain sense of satisfaction the old Corsair watched as Dusty slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes and started to get up on his still folded landing gear. His Pontoons leaned against the wall, Skipper had decided that they only created unnecessary drag during training and had talked Dottie into taking them off. The old Warbird turned around and got just barely across the mainroom's treeshold as he heard a stumbling noise.This was followed by a surprised-edging-on-shocked-yelp and the sound of an almost three ton heavy plane hitting the ground. Skipper winced as he turned around again. Dusty had gotten tangled in a wrinkle of the blanket and tripped over the edge of his sleepingmat.And had appearantly faceplanted onto the hangarfloor. Now the little plane was a) unable to get back up by himself and b) looking like he couldn't quite decide between laughing and crying...  
Skipper settled for snickering. That earned him a scowl. Which did absolutely nothing to keep him from starting to laugh out loud. 

Once he had regained his composure he looked down at Dusty with a soft, sympathetic smile. It was getting to hot for training now anyway, he told himself, fully aware that it was probably the worst lie he'd ever had come up with. „Maybe training's not such a good idea today, huh?“ he asked. Dusty grinned sheepishly and gave his best impression of an airplane shrug. Skipper just blew some air out through his exhausts and gently helped the young Airtractor back up. „If we're not training, does that mean I can get some more shuteye?“ asked Dusty through a yawn. Skipper chuckled and said „Why did I have a feeling that you would ask me this?“. Dusty just giggled and shrugged. At Skipper's nod he laid back down and snuggled into the soft fabric. „Fine, but tomorrow we'll train, or you can forget that championship“ clarified Skipper sternly. „Ah-huh, sure Skip,....“ whispered Dusty, already half asleep again. Skipper huffed softly and put the blanket back over the once again softly snoring plane. 

Closing the Hangar door behind him he made his way back to his own Hangar. There was no use in being the only one up at 5 am. Well, aside from Leadbottom of course, but if he was honest, he did look forward to a few more hours of blessed sleep himself.  
So the old Corsair taxied down the runway, to a navy blue Hangar at the far outskirts of a small farmers town, somewhere in Minnesota.

The end........


	2. The Green Tornado and the Turbo Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy morning in LA.  
Everyone has their "Bad Work Day" some time, now it's the turn of the Green Tornado and his Turbo Twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have Rip and Co.  
I apologize sincerely should any of the three become too OOC, I'm not the best at writing Original Chararcters ':)

The buidling was quiet and tranquill. Only the staff that needed to be awake at this hour was moving in the lower stories of the huge green and black tinted glass Tower. One of that staff was Mike. A Forklift who worked for the world famous Racing Champion Ripslinger and his two minions. The Beige and mint-coloured Forklift was in the elevator on his way up to the top of the RPX tower. He was supposed to wake the star racers. At this hour the elevator played soft, chill out music and Mike found himself whistling to it. As he reached the last floor he rolled out. A large door led to three hallways, each going to a seperate Appartment. He rolled into the first door that was right infront of him. It was Ripslinger's Appartment. 

As he rolled into the room he was surprised to find Ned and Zed there too. Both Zivkos had snuggled against Rip's flanks somewhen in the night. Ned laid to his left, his wing was partially beneath Rip's belly and his nosecone almost touched the P-51's cheek. Zed laid to Ripslinger's right. He had curled into himself and pressed against the Mustangs flank. The three planes were peacefully sleeping, the only noise that could be heard was Ned's quiet snoring and the noises of the slowly awakening city below them.  
Mike couldn't help but grin as he saw the three racers snuggled up against each other. Ripslinger would never admit it out loud, but he secretly cared about the two smaller planes. Ever since he had taken them with him from a tour in New Zealand the Zivko twins were like glued to his side. No one except for him knew where he had found them, but one day after a race he'd gone exploring and came back a couple of hours later. An unidentifiable, dirty, light brown and beige thing had dangled from his yaws. Squeaking indignantly, a second brown and beige little thing had dwadled behind him. Later it turned out that those _unidentifiable thingies_ were two very young planes. Each try to get them away again had been met with severe protest from Ripslinger, who was appearantly deadset on keeping them, out of reasons that were only known to him. Kenny Doosan, one of the heads behind RPX and Rip's trusted consultant, had simply guessed that for some reason the Mustang's parenting instincts must've kicked into gear. After some time, the whole crew had just dealed with it.  
It had been a while since Rip had allowed them to cuddle with him though, usualy he'd snarl and nip at them should they try it. But appearantly he had been in the mood for cuddles last night. A rarity considering that the plane usualy didn't like being touched. Like most Planes who had been lucky enough to count a warbird into their pedigree, he considered being touched to be annoying.

The Forklift switched on the light and activated the scale. As ordered by Kenny, each racer was to be weighed each morning before training. In the background he could hear the racers start to stirr. As he turned around he found himself being stared at out of hooded, olive coloured eyes. „Good morning, Ripslinger. Beautysleep's over“ he said while he let water into the bathtub that sat in the room's corner.

Ned chose that moment to greet the world with an almighty yawn. He warily blinked and looked around in the room. His eyes fell on Mike and he grimaced as he realized that the Forklift meant training. Mike chuckled at that and started to heat some fuel up. What had his mother always said: „Breakfast is the most important meal of the day“ Rip meanwhile tasked himself with waking up Zed. For such a small plane he slept pretty deep. San Andreas could rip open and all he'd do was grumble and change his sleeping position.  
With a gentleness that belied his size and usual attitude the P-51 nudged the small plane until he made a protesting noise and tried to swat the offending nose away. Rip grinned at that and stopped for a couple of minutes. Just enough for Zed to drift back to sleep, before he started to poke him again. Once he got another reaction out of the small plane he turned him on his back and poked his soft underside. At that, Zed reacted almost imediately. Groaning, squeaking and making some unintelligible noises of annoyance he glared halfheartedly up at the bigger Mustang and tried to keep the other's nose away with his gear. Rip just stuck his tongue out before he gave him one last nudge. Zed huffed before he yawned and stretched out fully. He looked around in the room and blinked, still not fully awake yet. Ned meanwhile had wriggled out of the nest like sleepingmat and rolled over to the bath area of the Appartement, were the tub filled to the brim with steaming water already waited. 

The small plane slowly slipped into the tub and a content little grin spread on his face as the warm water eased the stiffness of sleep out of his body. The tub was sized to host a plane at least twize his own size and he almost submerged completely, if it weren't for his wings holding him up. Ripslinger saw his chance at causing some more ruckus and snuck up behind the smaller plane. Ned was oblivious to the grining P-51 behind him and he screeched in pure terror as Ripslinger practically dove into the tub. The resulting wave made Ned squeal and he scrambled back to the tub's edge. Hystericaly clawing his way back out of the tub and onto the dry carpet. Maniac gasps of laughter could be heard out of the bedroom and Ned rolled into it. Zed was lying on his belly, his gear sprawled out beneath him and tears of laughter ran down his cheeks. He had his eyes closed tightly and was shaking. Ned stared at him and Mike could see an idea forming in his head. He knew that Zed was doomed as he saw the green faced Zivko's devillish grin. Zed also realized that he was in for trouble and he stopped laughing as he saw his brother's face. „Ned, no.“ he said. But it was already to late. Ned sped over to his brother, scrambled on top of the white fronted plane, who tried to escape, and started to shake himself with vigor. He was sending drops flying and soaked his brother, who still tried and failed to scurry out beneath his twin. A deep, amused chuckle carried out of the bathroom and a toroughly soaked and dripping wet Ripslinger rolled out of the bath tub. Zed glared at both of them before he suddenly jumped up, which threw Ned onto his back with an indignant squeak, and rolled over to Mike. The Forklift weighed him, the scale meassured proud 817 kilogramms, and afterwards let him drink the fuel. All the while he kept an eye on the other two planes. 

Ned was still on his back, his gear flailed uselessly in the air and he cursed in pretty much every language he knew. Judging from Rip's malicious grin he was not going to change anything about that anytime soon.  
Some time later Ned gave up with a huff and seeing that his mornings entertainment had ceased to be......well, entertaining, Rip decided to have mercy on the small plane and helped him back up. 

Zed had by now already vacated the room and occupied himself with watching the city awaken below him from his own apartment. He often did that whenever Ned had annoyed him too much. Sometimes Rip joined him, but that was rare. He liked watching the sun turn the smog over LA into a deep, bloody red or bright yellow light. Standing there on his own balcony he had the perfect view over the city. The RPX-Tower was one of the tallest in LA and the noises from down below seemed far, far away. But right now, his mind was elsewhere. He'd felt the Forklift's surprise through his EM field and could only guess what Mike must have thought as he'd seen him and his brother snuggled up to Ripslinger. The same reason that had brought them to him in the beginning. A mixtue of young-dumb-boldness, aching hunger, crippling curiousity and sheer dumb luck. It had been a very big event and news had spread like a wildfire that several World known Racers would come to New Zealand and he and his Brother had thought that they had nothing to loose and the racers surely wouldn't miss the one or other fuel can.  
They hadn't even gotten close to the tents. In fact, they had gotten quite the scare as they had been on their way to the tents only to find their path blocked by a fricking huge P-51. The acid green and stark Black plane had simply stared at them with curiosity and before either of them knew what even happened Zed found himself being, more or less gingerly, picked up by the space between his wings and back, right behind his canopy. After a couple of protesting squeaks he had gone limp. Three days later they found themselves „adopted“ by the P-51, who, after learning that they didn't really have names, had simply dubbed them Ned and Zed. That had been almost seven years ago. And despite his usual, quite mean attitude out on the shows and infront of the cameras, Ripslinger was quite protective over them.

Zed knew that many people thought that he and his brother were quite dense, but they only acted stupid. If you asked Ned on how mesocyclones worked his twin could talk you into the ground, same went for Zed himself, although his field of expertise ran more in a „Field Medic“ kind of way. Being born on the streets and abandoned by their parents they had to grow up fast, and with Ned being the more adventurus out of both of them Zed had to learn how to patch up the various scrapes, dents and bruises his brother used to get, whenever they went out to look for scraps. Someone cleared their throat behind him and he startled, whipping around with a curious, high pitched, thrilling flutter of his engine. Rip stood behind him, no longer dripping, but still moist. A gentle smile spread over the Mustang's features and he huffed before dipping down to give Zed a short nuzzle. The Zivko returned the gesture with a small, happy purr, before he rolled out of the room to join his brother and Mike at the elevator. Rip followed swiftly and entered last. 

Twenty minutes later they found themselves on a field outside the city, the sun was just peeking over the skyscrapers, trying to break through the fog. Despite the morning's action, the planes where still tired, which showed in their performance. Zed flew sluggish. Ned didn't really fly at all, he just hobbled awkwardly on the runway before tipping onto his nose and deciding that he was done for today. Ripslinger managed to at least fly a single round at top speeds before his eyes drooped and he almost got high-fived in the face by a tree. The resulting yelp and apocalypse en miniture had lead to the three planes sitting on the runway, Rip doozing in the mornings breeze while the Twins rough housed. 

Mike sat off to the side and talked to Kenny on the phone, trying to find a solution. Once he had one, he turned back to the planes with an about to face,.....only to find them all hudled together again. Sleeping like the dead in the soft grass. Deciding that training was the last thing that would be happening today, Mike threw all caution out the window and joined the planes in their small huddle. Once he got comfortable in the crook of Ned's wing he closed his eyes, and joined the three planes in morpheus arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Plays Adele's Skyfall in the Backgound* This is the end ~  
No, just kidding, more fluff will come, I just don't know what or when yet, but it will!  
If you have read all of this, a big Thank U 2 U!  
If you have any questions, feel free to comment (I can't read minds.....)!

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually were so kind as to read this, a big Thank U!!  
I hope you enjoyed the stuff I wrote!


End file.
